Desperate in DC
by BandGeek58407
Summary: Riley, completely out of options, writes to the local advice column about his conflicts regarding his love for Ben. Problem is, Ben's too perceptive for his own good. Slash, BenRiley. CONTINUED!
1. Chapter 1

**So…I **_**should**_ **be studying for midterms right now. But instead, I'm writing this fic and desperately hoping for that one last snow day that could make them…"optional"…or, in other words, "skipable."**

**Disclaimer: I love 'em, but I don't own 'em. Phooey.**

XXX 

It was late, and he knew there were important things he would have to do in the morning. Early in the morning…like eight o'clock early. But that didn't stop Riley from staring at the screen of his laptop at three in the morning. Sleep: it wasn't exactly an option. There were too many things running through his mind, too many questions that couldn't be voiced to those around him. So…what did Riley do when forced into a pickle? What he always did—turn to the internet.

The box was still empty as it had been an hour ago with the constantly blinking cursor flashing away impatiently. Riley really couldn't see the point of that thing. _Must _it remind you every second where you last stopped typing? Did it really think that people were that stupid? Or maybe that was its way of saying, "Come on already, Einstein, type something!" Either way, Riley wished it would just cease its motion long enough for him to concentrate.

After a few minutes, though, his fingers slowly moved across the keyboard. Words appeared, and half an hour later he felt much better…though still anxious. Reading it through, he deemed it vague enough to be sent and did so.

Sure, it was a long shot, but it was his only shot. Desperate times, he realized, called for desperate measures. And he didn't think he could get much more desperate than this.

XXX

Bright and early at seven-thirty the next morning, Riley stumbled groggily out of his room and literally fell into a chair at the breakfast table.

"Good morning to you too," Ben mused over the newspaper.

"Mhm…"

"Do you want some coffee?" The older man's eyes poked over the top of the paper.

"Do you really think that's a good idea? You know me and caffeine." Riley brought up his head long enough to give Ben an unbelieving look and then promptly flopped it back down. "Unless you want to strap me down to a chair with duct tape again, I'd advise you to reconsider."

"Good point." And back to the paper he went. What was so interesting about the Lifestyle section Riley would never understand; yet there Ben was, casually reading it and every so often taking another bite of an orange slice from the plate next to him.

_Morning people…_Riley thought with a bit of sarcasm.

"Wow…"

"What? Did you find some new way to tile the bathroom so it'd increase the positive karma?"

"No, no…it was just the advice column…people have weird, unfortunate problems."

Advice column? Since when did Ben read the _advice column_? Perking his head up, Riley craned around the side of the paper and tried to appear like he didn't care _too_ much. "So, uh…what was so "wow" about it?"

Much to his chagrin, Ben cocked one eyebrow as if to say, "Oh? So you're awake now?" but didn't say anything more about it. "Well…let me read it too you.

"_Dear Gabby, _

"_I'm a male in my late-twenties with a big problem. I'm in love with my best friend…who's a guy. It didn't start out that way, because I'm not usually into guys, but it just sort of…evolved since we worked together all the time. The problem is, he's got a girlfriend, who's also a friend of mine. I don't know what to do or who to talk to: they're pretty much the only people who I hang out with so I can't exactly talk to them about it. It's tearing me up._

"_Desperate in DC."_

Riley could only stare at the too-familiar words, completely confounded how they got to the paper in the last four hours. However, the mystery was soon overshadowed: Ben was cocking his eyebrow again. "That is…a pretty unfortunate problem. You got any Reese's Puffs? I'm kind of hungry."

"No," Ben said. "Abigail tossed that cereal out days ago. It's pure sugar: you of all people don't need that. But don't you want to hear what Gabby told this person to do?"

"Wh-why?" Riley quickly stood and headed toward the pantry in search of some distracting breakfast nourishment. The only thing he found was an outdated box of Patrick Gates' Shredded Wheat. What was it about older people and bland cereal?

"Well, normally the advice this column gives is more common sense than anything, but this was actually, y'know…useful, given that this was a pretty confusing predicament."

_OK, calm, act calm, this is not a big deal…_"Really now?" His voice seemed to magnify immensely in the small cabinet he still was searching through…anything to not look at Ben with his guaranteed crimson face.

"Yeah. She basically told the guy to confront his friend and get it over with, just so they wouldn't be hiding anything from each other."

"Is that right?" One day, he decided, he would organize this pit of doom of a pantry. Things went in and never came out; in the back, way behind a box of muffin mix, was the special container of Hungarian paprika Ben had needed for his curry a year ago. Not much use now…except for a subject changer. "Hey, I found that paprika you were looking for!"

"Riley…" But no, Ben was _never_ to be distracted. Curse him and his…admirable… unfailing determination. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Psh…of course." Realizing he couldn't hide in the pantry forever, Riley finally shuffled back to his seat. His heart was pounding so hard his eardrums hurt and cheeks burned. So much for remaining calm. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

It was a look that he'd seen many times before, only because of the combination of expressions it held. There was the usual "super-determined" one that Ben had copyrighted in the patent office, but in the mix was a look that Riley had seen only once before: when Ian had revealed that he had taken Patrick hostage. It was disbelief, pity, and confusion all rolled into one. "Riley…why'd you write this?"

All the younger man could do was stare; the muscles in his neck and eyes seemed to cut off. "Wh-what? You think…_I_…wrote that?"

"It's definitely your writing style. I've noticed in your e-mails that you use a lot of ellipses and not many big or complicated words. And you fit the description the person gave, and I fit the description of the best friend."

Nothing ever got past Ben: Riley could try and lie his way out, and three hours worth of sarcastic shrug-offs later he'd be halfway clear. But they didn't have three hours, and Ben would still be suspicious after all that anyways. "You're good." Like magic, the stiff muscles began to work again, immediately forcing his head and gaze as far from Ben as possible, who didn't say anything.

"Hey boys! You want me to make you some—"

"Abigail?" Ben interrupted. "Could you…give us a few minutes?"

She hadn't even been halfway in the door frame. "Um…sure…" Her eyes, showing obvious confusion, swept over both of them before she turned around and left, her footsteps echoing loudly on the old wood of the stairway.

"So you really didn't feel comfortable telling me?"

"Would _you_?" Now he really wished he had a bowl of Reese's Puffs. At least he could plausibly stare at the cereal instead of some weird picture in the wood grain of the table.

"Well…no," Ben admitted after a few moments. "But you truly felt the need to write to an advice column?"

"Yes!" Riley exclaimed, all his pent-up frustration and embarrassment practically exploding. "Talking to either of you would ruin our friendship, but how would you like to live everyday watching someone else happily be with…with…" Little by little, the energy faded and he couldn't complete his sentence. "With…"

"…the one you love." Ben's eyes bored a hole into the side of Riley's head with a blank look, void even of his usual resolve. "Riley, look at me."

"Nope. Not going there." There was a picture of some nice looking tangerines on the opposite wall: it was easier to talk to then Ben at the moment.

"Riley."

"Y'know what?" Suddenly, Riley hopped out of his chair, coat in hand, and headed towards the front door. "My existence here is going to make things too awkward. I'm leaving. Don't worry about my stuff; I'll get it in the middle of the night and you won't even know I'm gone." He would have been out the door in an instant, but of course, he was held up searching for his keys in that accursed key-bowl. There were so many keys in that thing that it nullified its purpose.

"Yes we will," Ben said, a few feet behind him. "We _will _know!"

"Ben, I just can't stay here anymore."

"And what exactly are you going to do?" The incredulity in his voice stopped Riley's fingers cold and forced him to turn round.

"I'll get over it."

"No you won't."

"I know…" Riley sighed, keys jangling and hand already on the door knob. "I just hoped you would believe it so you'd feel better." With a twitch of the head, he looked over his shoulder with his usually cheerful blue eyes. Only this time, regret had clearly taken over. "It was nice knowing you. I'll forget to write."

And just like that—a slam of the door and the revving of the engine—he was gone, leaving Ben staring in the foyer like an idiot.

"Ben…?" Abigail silently appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Where'd Riley go?"

He seemed to revolve on the spot. "I…don't know."

"Did he finally admit he's in love with you?"

Despite all the things that had occurred, Ben was still thrown extremely off guard. "Wait…you _knew_?"

"I had my suspicions." She gazed at the key-bowl briefly. "He left, didn't he?" And without even waiting for a response, she flipped open her cell phone and marched right back up the stairs. "Of all the stupid things…"

Still dumbfounded, Ben just stood there, listening to Abigail's conversation as well as for the unmistakable hum of the Ferrari engine.

"Riley, hey…" Abigail's voice drifted down to the ground floor. "OK--stop, _stop._ Would you listen for just a—I know. Could you—" He must be on one of those nonstop explaining rants if Abigail can't even get a word in edgewise. "RILEY! I've heard enough, OK? It's fine, I'm fine, Ben's fine, everything's _fine_! I don't care, all right? Now you turn around and get your _ass_ over here in the next three minutes!"

Abigail's use of swear words: yet another thing to chalk up on the list of the morning's strange happenings.

"Why don't you—yes, if you want to. No, it's fine. Right. See you in a few minutes."

As she bounded back down the stairs, Ben could still only stare. "So…?"

"There's a reason I don't swear that much. It makes them more emphatic and, um…_persuasive_." With a tiny grin, she pecked him on the cheek. "Oh, here he comes now."

The loud red vehicle was truly hard to miss, especially since the engine was roaring well past its normal volume level. Soon enough, the door opened, revealing a sheepish and disheveled Riley. "Hi…" he mumbled.

"Go on," Abigail said. "I said you could." What that meant Ben had no idea.

But he soon found out.

The space between the doorway and where Ben stood was closed in an instant as Riley grabbed the front of his shirt and brought his mouth down to his. He kissed him as hungrily as a dehydrated and starving man who couldn't let go of him even if he tried. Years of want were compressed into three seconds, three seconds that felt like years to the famished younger man.

"Sorry," he muttered upon breaking away, not even daring to make eye contact. "I'm going to go get some Shredded Wheat." After a momentary grateful look at Abigail, Riley went quickly to the kitchen.

"Whoa," Ben sighed as he ran his hands through his hair. "You actually…_agreed_ to this?"

"Are you upset?"

"No, no…but you were…_OK_ with that?"

"Ben," she smiled. "I _suggested_ it. An unhappy or absent Riley pretty much signals a worldwide disaster."

That, in Ben's mind, was odd. _Why would she suggest that Riley kiss me if she's my girlfriend? It could have so many unknown repercussions…_

"Hey…" she said, breaking his train of thought and rubbing his shoulder. "If you're happy, I'm happy, all right? The 'how' doesn't matter."

XXX

Heehee. So…I don't know. I love BenRiley, but I have a hard time sometimes convincing myself that Ben could in fact fall for the techie. I know it's really possible the other way around, but…yeah. One of my quirks.

**Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Look who decided to finally continue this after what…five months? It was on my to-do list for _after_ I finish What Lies Buried, but I hadn't written any slash in a while…so…yeah. I hope this is as effective as the first chapter, even if it doesn't start off as light.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to anything. **

XXX

Although the manor had been relatively quiet over the past hour, nothing could compare to the shrieking silence that penetrated the many rooms' suddenly thick atmosphere. It was the silence that emphasized the lack of words flowing between the manor's inhabitants, that simply increased the overflowing tension.

Everyone was restless.

In the foyer, beside the table where Riley's keys were unceremoniously dumped, Ben stood, shifting his weight from foot to foot and staring at Abigail—who stared right back. Her gaze was almost a glare, but not quite, instead saying a thousand things without ever forcing her to open her mouth. At the present moment, it was saying, "Go talk to Riley."

But Ben was not yet ready for that conversation, and somewhere deep down he doubted whether he ever would be comfortable enough to do just that. Out of the corner of his eye and down the hallway to the kitchen, he could see the techie, hunched in his seat, sullenly swallowing stale clumps of Shredded Wheat. Every so often a sharp clatter of spoon on bowl would pierce the omnipresent silence for the briefest moment, only to have it increase exponentially as the metallic echoes faded to nothing.

Still Abigail's eyes shouted, "Go talk to Riley."

What was he supposed to say, though? If he waltzed in the kitchen and made an enormous deal about their predicament, that would only force them into a more awkward position, if that was even plausible. On the other hand, if he waltzed in the kitchen and said nothing about it at all, Riley could possibly think that Ben returned his feelings.

And he still wasn't sure where he stood on that.

He wanted things to return to normal—clearly too optimistic—and erase the past hour if only to relieve Riley of his evident misery; but erasure was not on his mind's list of tasks. Kissing another guy, let alone best friend, was not something that would easily be forgotten. Every time he glanced at Abigail's pushy gaze, a pertinent flashback exploded in his mind's eye. If he followed the advice of said gaze, that sensation would likely only worsen.

But the guilt of leaving Riley alone in the kitchen with only particularly gross breakfast cereal for company when he really needed a live person most was killing him.

Oh the conflict that was plaguing his noble conscience!

And still Abigail's eyes—almost at the point of popping out of their sockets to push him down the corridor themselves—screamed, "Go talk to Riley."

With a sigh, Ben finally nodded, putting a tiny grin on her face and more content phrases in her gaze. As she marched up the stairs, he stared at his foot, waiting for it to take that first step that undoubtedly would seem so much more raucous than necessary. If he could get that foot to budge, the rest of the way would be simple—until he sat down across from Riley. But he had ten yards to worry himself silly about that.

The foot moved, stepped down, made an echoing noise, and halted. Riley still made no indication that the sound had made his eardrums bleed with the extreme decibels, so it was safe. Ben could walk down the hallway unscathed.

Though he wasn't truly sure what would have attacked him anyway. Maybe it was time, for that ten yards suddenly became zero, and the chuckling portrait of tangerines loomed before him.

"Hey."

Luck must have been on Ben's side, because it was not he who spoke the first word. Riley's cheeks flushed from bright crimson to a deep maroon as his head ducked further into the shadow of his torso.

Taking his old seat and shuffling the Lifestyle section so it couldn't possibly interfere (the tricky things newspapers sometimes were), Ben sighed yet again. "Hello."

Inside Riley's chest, it must have been five o'clock traffic—his stomach was flipping, his rib cage was sore, his heart was ticking quickly and rather irregularly, and everything in general burned. They burned with embarrassment, humiliation, but more so with the love he had sworn never to reveal. _Promises don't last forever_, he thought with dismay. _Even to myself_. His brain supplied his reluctant tongue with a characteristic afterthought: _If I had chucked that paprika at him, maybe we could have changed the subject_.

"Do you want to get some Reese's Puffs on the way to the appointment?" Ben probes cautiously. "That can't be any good."

Lifting his eyes took the strength of ten men, but somehow Riley managed, albeit briefly. "Old people cereal tends to fall under that category. You might want to check and see if your dad's taste buds are still functioning." Despite the flat quality to his normally vibrant voice, the quip that had finally escaped the confines of the younger man's mind forced a smile on Ben's face. "But yeah. That sounds like a plan. But let's make it the way home—we're going to be late otherwise."

And so it would seem: they were due at the appointment at eight o'clock, and it was inching dangerously close to seven-fifty-five.

"True. On the return trip, then. Don't let me forget." The older man made to get up but stopped as soon as he noted Riley wasn't doing the same.

"S-sorry," Riley stuttered, realizing Ben's eyes were on him and clamoring to his feet. "Can you drive, though?" The implied reason was enough to tinge both of their faces a shade darker.

They followed each other back through the pesky hallway and back into the infamous foyer; Riley instantly busied himself with scrounging through the key-bowl for Ben's car keys.

"Abigail," Ben called up the stairs. "We're heading out, all right?"

"Have fun." He could almost see the smirk that was accompanying that innocently ambiguous statement. How irritating.

And even in that thirty-second diversion, Riley could not find the keys in that extremely accursed little bowl. _Well fine then_. One by one he picked up each set—some new and shiny while others were rusting away—and laid them out in a perfect line on the table, then promptly dropped the cheap clay container to the ground with an earthy, muted smash. "Problem solved," he said, tossing the jingling set to the older man.

The creeping silence had slithered into Ben's car, even through the theft-proof door locks. So over the quiet hum of the engine, sparse conversation was the case, save for a few mumbled directions on the route to the house they were supposed to be visiting. It turned out that this house was much further along the tucked-away road and its cracking pavement. As much as they wanted to avoid it, words found their ways to the open once more.

"Are you OK?" Ben asked, side-glancing his friend. Riley only gave a half-hearted chuckle. "No, really."

"I…" His mouth made motions like it was about to keep speaking, but it relented to a drained shrug and confused shake of the head.

"Talk to me."

"What's there to talk about?"

To his surprise, he felt the sudden tug of inertia on his seat belt as Ben pressed firmly on the brakes until the car thudded to a halt. "Everything." The road no longer demanding his full attention, Ben was able to direct his gaze at the younger man, who quickly looked down.

"We're going to be late."

"They can wait." Again the silence reared its ugly head. "Just…clear me up on some things from your letter to _Dear Gabby_. How did this all start? I'm just wondering," he added hastily.

"If you read close enough, it said it just kind of grew. I really don't know exactly _when_, per se." By the involuntary twitching of his squirming mouth and the increasing rapidity in his heartbeat, Riley knew that was a downright lie. He knew exactly when—it was just…

_Embarrassing_, his subconscious supplied. _And kind of corny_.

"Nothing's too embarrassing or corny for me," Ben prodded.

"You dirty little mind reader." He had to suppress a grimace. _Great, Riley, now you have no choice but to tell him_. "It was…"

"Yes?"

"Stop interrupting me; this is hard enough, all right?" Sighing, he sat up and leaned his head back to stare at the liner. "After we found the treasure, the first one. You were talking with Sadusky about the whole thing up at the altar, about…negotiations. And how you don't do that too well. I think he said, 'You don't really understand the concept of a bargaining chip' or something. The situation just…struck a chord. I had to laugh about it. And then I knew." Eyelids fluttering until they finally settled over his eyes completely, he let out yet another sigh. He felt like he was running amok in downtown Moscow shouting out the contents of the president's book over a megaphone. These thoughts were never supposed to reach his ears, but… _Things change_.

"God, Riley…" Again surprising him was Ben's tone—not angry, just shocked. "Cibola must have been tortuous."

"Just a bit."

"Is that why you kept whispering over the ear piece not to let Abigail come along when I ran into her in Buckingham Palace?" When no response came from the younger man, Ben cocked his head, sighing. "And why you seemed so confusingly pleased when I suggested she make a date with Connor at the Easter Egg Roll?"

Riley only cast his eyes downward to his shifting feet and made no effort to speak for quite a while. "You're observant…" he finally mumbled.

"I have to be." Although Riley could not see him, Ben's face was screaming pity and conflict in the agonizing hush of sound.

"How can you be so calm about this?" Riley suddenly shouted, gesticulating wildly with eyes wide at the older man. "How can you sit there and discuss this without…without _this_?" His hands flew as they motioned to his state of being, his emotional raving.

"Riley—"

"You don't think like other people at all and that's why I love you!"

Once more the silence engulfed their ears and the blood invaded their faces. Riley, breathing heavily and trying to calm his heart, couldn't force his head to turn so he dropped his gaze for what seemed like the millionth time. What was always implied but never spoken aloud finally found a voice—a voice that was so overwhelming for their emotions and their minds.

It was almost eight thirty-five, so Ben quietly shifted back into drive and let the vehicle rumble slowly over the various bumps in the road. Though he knew he should have been paying attention to the winding road, he took many glances over at his younger friend, whose hands were shivering.

"Riley." There was no response, but he wasn't looking for one; with one hand on the steering wheel, he reached his other over the console and grasped Riley's shaking fingers. The twitching ceased, and all was calm—his breathing, his heart, his emotions. Ben's simple touch was relief personified.

They remained there—still silent—until the vine-covered brick house materialized in the distance. "What did they say they had again?" Riley said quietly as Ben turned the ignition to off. "Some diary?"

"Yeah," Ben agreed, nodding. "I thought it was kind of far-fetched, but Abigail kept saying 'better safe than sorry.'"

"What was so far-fetched about it?"

By that time, they had already meandered up the cobblestone path to the oaken front door, which promptly opened.

"Mr. Gates, Mr. Poole, hello!" said the young woman greeting them. "Come in, come in!" In the background, high-pitched giggling could be heard—Ben and Riley quickly exchanged skeptical glances.

Blonde hair bobbing, the woman led them to a living room full of her similar-looking companions. "Emma, show them the diary."

Emma, attempting in a very poor manner to conceal a broad grin, rose to her feet and shoved a fraying leather-bound book under their noses. "We think it may be Charlemagne's," she managed to splutter.

"The French ruler from a thousand years ago?" Riley whispered in his friend's ear; Ben nodded once, opening the volume—his face immediately fell into flat disappointment.

"'I am Charlemagne,'" he read aloud. "'Here me'—you all spelled 'roar' wrong." Ripping the notebook paper from the "diary" he waved the tattered piece at the group, who were tittering inconspicuously.

"D-did not!"

"Did so."

"No, no," Emma roughly took the paper from him. "See? 'Rawr.' Rah-wuhr. Rawr." Much to her and her friends' chagrin, all the two men did was stare, Riley blinking furiously in his confusion. "Charlemagne says 'rawr' because…he's a _panda_, and pandas say 'rawr.'"

"Absurd!" Ben said, rolling his eyes and trying not to think of the escapade at the Easter Egg Roll. "Charlemagne was a _human being_ who ruled during the 700s in Europe—are you listening?—and helped unite the French. He was _in no way_ a Chinese bear-like mammal who consumed bamboo on a daily basis!"

"Could you help us prove he was a panda?"

"_No_ I will not help you do that!"

"But your name holds so much esteem!"

"_Charlemagne was not a panda!_"

Emma was certainly very obstinate—obstreperous, even—and refused to back down in the least bit. Off to the side, all Riley could do was watch Ben battle it out with this girl over something completely ludicrous: the overly-logical words and phrases he used, the frustrated faces he donned—and he quite possibly wondered why Riley would fall for him.

To the younger man's knowledge, Benjamin Franklin Gates was the only man alive who could make such an argument about Charlemagne's possible panda background so very serious.

"Come on, Riley," Ben said finally after around five solid minutes of debating. "This was a waste of time."

Although Ben was fuming the entire way out to the car and back down the crumbling road, Riley was having an arduous time trying not to start sniggering like a madman. But in his rage about others having no respect for history, Ben barely took notice.

He did, however, remember to stop by the grocery store for Riley's cereal.

The dully shining linoleum flooring and softly playing elevator music just irritated the older man even more. His mind was still so focused on Emma and her idiotic posse that he was finding it difficult to follow his friend in the large superstore.

Riley plucked the orange and brown box from its row of peers. "Rawr."

"Riley," Ben sighed as he finally looked at him. "Please don't tell me you're a panda."

"If I am, will you buy me bamboo?"

"I'm not sure they sell that in the exotic produce section."

"Oh." As the silence resumed, even in the camera-secured grocery store, the younger man flicked his gaze from side to side awkwardly, then sending it skyward. "Mm…can we check?"

"Riley."

"Ben."

"You're not a panda."

"I didn't say I was," he said matter-of-factly. "You were the one who assumed; I would suggest a trip to the eye doctor if I in any way resemble a big black and white bear to you."

A smile illuminating parts of his visage once cast in shadow, Riley shrugged and turned to head to the cashier, Ben following close in his wake. And, even despite his insisting, the techie would not allow him to pay for the three-dollar package of food.

As soon as the car door closed behind them, Riley had the box open and the orange and brown spheres crunching away under his teeth. "Mm…sugar…" The smile that had manifested itself broadened greatly.

"Those really any good?" Ben inquired, pulling out of the parking lot.

"They're _delicious_!"

"…can I try some?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" It almost seemed as if never consuming a sugary cereal was suddenly the most capital crime. "Here." In his palm were four miniature brown balls.

Ben took a quick glance down as he drove down the main road. "Hold on…shouldn't there be an orange one in there too? I don't hate peanut butter flavor, you know."

"Ben, Ben, Ben…" Riley chuckled. "They all taste the same. Honestly. Even though one stands for the peanut butter and one stands for the chocolate and they both _seem _really different, there really _is _no difference once you try it. In all seriousness, it just depends on which color you like more." Corner of his mouth twitching, he continued, "What'll it be?"

Ben went ahead and took the cereal he already had in his hand; to his surprise, it actually wasn't the revolting concoction that he had been expecting. Meanwhile, his mind was trying to sort through something else, something he had never quite got the hang of in school.

_Was that a metaphor?_

Pulling into their driveway—the box of Reese's Puffs half-empty and overwhelmed with the orange spheres—they met Abigail's car as it was leaving.

"I have to go run some errands," she shouted through the thick glass windows. While she had her head turned towards the traffic on the road, Ben snatched a look at her face via her rearview mirror. Again that smirk—she was playing some sort of game.

On the other hand, Riley had to fight quite hard to keep his internal smile from leaking onto his face. He knew exactly what Abigail was playing at—so did Ben, but the older man was much less definitive, and Riley sensed this.

It was time to be back from the reality escape "Charlemagne's" diary had provided and to go back to the silence, the awkwardness.

"Um…" Ben started once he turned the car off by the house. "Can I fix you some lunch?"

"We just ate half our weight in kid's cereal."

"I doubt we're that light."

Instantly Riley wore an expression of false hurt. "Are you calling me fat?" The thudding of the closing car doors bounced dully off the looming brick walls of the mansion. "Rawr! I'm a fat panda!"

Heading towards the house's entrance, they met back around at the front of Ben's vehicle and stared at each other with creeping grins. "You're a panda?" Ben said as if he was trying to make sure he heard him correctly.

"Maybe," Riley said slowly.

Something changed, and whether or not the rest of the neighborhood felt it was beyond Ben, who noticed it the most. Almost like someone had disconnected the rest of his body with his ability to reason as usual, he spoke and acted without really thinking. "Well…fat pandas are cuddly." Without any further hesitation he stepped forward and brought the stunned Riley into an appropriate bear hug, one full of what felt like static electricity. Ben was buzzing and that puzzled him: _Did I rub my head with a balloon while we were at Emma's?_

Riley, still being a bit shocked at this turn of events, stood there in Ben's strong arms, his own stiff at his side. Though as time wore on, they became more limber and he gradually reached them around the older man's back and gave a small squeeze; he buried his face in his jacket, sighing—the breath soon became caught in his throat as his brain registered the scent, and that Ben was so close in proximity.

"Come on," Ben said all too soon, pulling away and stepping toward the door. "I'll make some tacos."

Riley hoped he didn't notice him stumble slightly as he was leaning forward. _That was a little too optimistic, _he thought to himself glumly.

"Ben…"

"Burritos, then?"

"No, listen." Melting off the historian's gaze was the layer of content—instead bewilderment filled its place. "Ben, I…I don't think I can live like this."

"L-Like what?"

"You've already forgotten, haven't you?" In place of a response, the wind whistling through the trees was the only thing that met the younger man's ears. "I realize you want things to go back to normal; I get it. It's just not realistic, OK? Abigail can do all she wants with her strange little plan, but clearly one unwilling party can mess it all up." His gaze cast down on the loose gravel, it took Riley a moment to remember the sky was cloudless—no rain. The dark splotches on the rocks were his own.

"Riley, don't cry…"

"I'm not," he mumbled, sniffing. "Some assassin just infiltrated my blood with onion juice."

From opposite sides of Ben's emotions welled up two sensations, twisting and convoluting into one; what was once simply sympathetic pain for his suffering and brotherly affection finally meshed into one more concise term, a term that had been tossed around quite a bit in the past morning. Suddenly it was physically agonizing to watch Riley be so anguished.

"Where is this assassin? I'll get rid of him."

Slowly the younger man's gaze lifted, eyes swimming. "I'm staring at him."

Ben's feet one by one began to traverse the marathon over to him, thoughts too busy to form an expression other than blank. "I have the antidote, I'm pretty sure." Before Riley's face could contort with confusion, Ben was already within a foot of it.

And his lips came crashing down.

Powerful hands on both of the techie's damp cheeks, Ben pulled his limp, drained form close until that same electricity could flow between them. More tears flowed down his face as Riley let out an overjoyed sob—soon his own arms were snaked around Ben's taller torso and up into his wind-tossed hair.

Staggering, they stumbled back into the front of Ben's car, Riley halfway falling onto the hood. Ben placed a hand on the side of the top to steady them and broke away, gasping, "I'm sorry, sorry…"

"Apologies later." And Riley forcefully brought his mouth back to his in a quick but passionate kiss. There they stayed, partly laying on the hood of Ben's car, panting slightly and staring at each other's flushed faces.

"Riley, I've got a problem," Ben murmured. "I've got this wonderful lover and I have no clue what to do."

A smile tugging at Riley's lips, he carefully pecked him on the cheek. "Write to _Dear Gabby_—she's a miracle worker."

XXX

**There. Yay for less ambiguous endings.**

**Please review—you know you want to!**


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